


stacked deck deal

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Threesome, Alternate Universe - College/University, Aphrodisiacs, Candles, Dream Sex, It's an occult club John, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rose started an occult club and now she's going to drag these poor suckers in, Sex, Sex Magic, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: Dealing with interpersonal relationships and emotions isalreadyenough of an uphill battlewithoutgetting the occult involved.





	1. Room 402

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kindlyclears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlyclears/gifts).



> Rose Lalonde is the aloof gothy witch girl on campus. Eridan Ampora is convinced he's in love with her. Sollux Captor is definitely in love with him, even if he'd rather eat a live eel than admit it. When Rose starts a paranormal club, Eridan jumps at the chance to get close to her and Sollux follows suit, determined to expose Rose for the fake-o mystic that she is. The two are quick to find out that the club - and Rose - are both much, much more than they seem. I'm definitely looking for something Buffyesque in this prompt, but any kind of semi-comedic paranormal/supernatural action is more than okay with me! Entrails and gore and legitimate creepery more than welcome, and encouraged. I want Rose to pull these two clueless jerks in way over their heads, and for all three of them to bond through the process.

Trick question time: What do you do when the hottest guy on campus, with abs like a model and all of the common sense of a newborn golden retriever, signs up for something _really fucking stupid_?

If you’re Sollux Captor, Comp Sci Major Extraordinaire, the answer is _generally_ mind your own fucking business, do not pass GO, do not collect $200, and do _not_ consider getting involved.

If, however, said model-hot, baby-golden-retriever-brained, pain-in-the-fucking-ass guy is A. your roommate, and B., one Eridan Ampora, double major in Letters and History, minor in Anthropology, darling of the NROTC branch stationed at your college, well. _All_ the rules are out the fucking window.

 

While Sollux Captor, the (supposedly) devilishly handsome, six-foot-four, hero of our story, had a tendency to walk on the _sensible_ side of life, a crush would make almost anyone go to incredibly idiotic lengths. In Eridan Ampora’s case, this meant signing up for Rose Lalonde’s brand new paranormal club. In _Sollux Captor’s_ case, this meant tagging along. _Unwillingly_.

 

“I’m telling you, ED, this is stupid. Lalonde is one of those kids who never grew out of her Hot Topic goth phase, and _how_ she got this approved as a club, I will _never_ fucking know,” Sollux insisted, regarding the crumpled poster Eridan had unfolded on their shared table with a wary eye. While getting matched together in the dorm lottery had _somehow_ given each of them their own private rooms in freshman year (which they had decided to keep for their sophomore one), they still had to share the bathroom and common area, and discovering that Eridan Ampora did _not_ actually bleach the off-color lighter brown streak in his hair did _nothing_ to stifle Sollux’s growing annoyance (and attraction, that he was _still_ insisting totally didn’t exist).

Eridan, with the world-weary demeanor of someone who had heard this rant, or some variation on it, for the hundredth-odd time in the past hour, rolled his eyes. “Listen, Captor, I’m not sayin’ you have to join, I’m just sayin’ that _I’m_ goin’ to join. And besides, you’ve seen her read a tarot deck—at that coffee shop, remember? I’m not _sayin’_ magic is real or anythin’, I’m just sayin’ that, uh. I’m goin’ to take the chance to get to know her a little bit better.”

While Eridan Ampora doesn’t yet know it, that reply turned out to be the _worst_ possible answer. Sollux’s eyes narrowed behind his prescription glasses when Eridan glanced away to adjust his own, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite managed to shake. “All right then,” Sollux said slowly, mentally running through tomorrow’s schedule for the both of them, “I’m coming.”

“Sol, I just said you don’t–”

“I, personally,” he continued, interrupting Eridan, “still think that she is a total fake who _probably_ sniffed a bit too much white sage, but honestly, seeing is believing, right? I’ll meet you outside your classroom once you finish up with drill. She said ‘arrive by 7:15 PM at the latest’, that’s plenty of time.”

Ampora’s expression was an odd combination of annoyed and pleased, and Sollux chalked one up on the mental scoreboard he’d been keeping since the day that they walked into _that_ local coffee shop and Eridan “fell head over heels” for Rose Fucking Lalonde. _Score one, team Captor, you crazy fake wix._

 

* * *

 

Seven PM comes quick, and Sollux found himself waiting outside Ryder Hall, the general ROTC building, with a meatball sub (white flatbread, extra cheese, fucking weird), in hand. Eridan, hurriedly changed and showered, bolted out of the building just before ten past, and lit up at the sight of him. _Score two, Captor_. “Sorry, Colonel kept us late. Is that for me?”

“No, it’s meant as an offering to the elder gods,” Sollux replied, handing it over. “Come on, ED, five minutes.”

 

Even when he’s eating, Ampora can’t seem to shut up. He went on, at length, about what he thinks Lalonde might have planned for this little sojourn into Hoaxville, and Sollux awards himself _several_ mental gold stars, on account of being able to refrain from grinding his teeth down into nubs.

“Whatever she has planned, ED,” he said, as they finally reached the top floor of Kings Hall, more commonly known as “the Castle”, “It’s probably going to be lame–”

The door to room 402 swung open, and Rose Lalonde gave them a smile worthy of any famous French art museum. “Five minutes late, boys,” she said, stepping back to let them in. “We can pick a better meeting time if you’re planning to make this a habit.”

Eridan stared at her in total awe, and it’s up to Sollux to drag him into the surprisingly normal-looking room. “You knew we were coming?” Eridan asked, brown eyes wide. Stupid golden retriever puppy.

“Of course,” Rose replied, closing the door behind them with a noise that has Sollux thinking fondly of their safe apartment, and places that didn’t seem like the start of a cheesy horror movie. “Pick a chair, any chair. I have a feeling it’s just going to be the three of us.”

 

* * *

 

One incredibly boring meeting later, Sollux Captor was feeling smug. Rose had turned out to be right about numbers, and she’d declared it to be a “housekeeping day” as well. Instead of jumping into any of her obviously fake Spooky Shit, she had insisted that they focus on suggesting topics they might like to cover in future meetings. “I have a few ideas of my own planned, but I want you boys to be included too,” she’d said, and Eridan had nodded along eagerly. Rose put each request on the board in an elegant— _practiced_ —hand, and rewarded them with smiles for the ones she particularly liked. _Then_ she asked for their schedules, decreed the new meeting time to be Thursday at seven- _thirty_ , and sent them home.

All in all, _boring_. As far as Sollux could tell, Eridan was a mixture of crestfallen and elated. “I mean, I guess it’s to be expected that we didn’t _really_ get into anythin’ for the first meetin’, but hey, only three of us, right? Better chance to, uh. Get to know her, like I said.”

“ _I’m_ just wondering if they’ll actually let her run a club with only three members and absolutely no faculty advisor,” Sollux said, waiting for Eridan’s face to fall.

Disappointment struck, much in the same way sloths most definitely didn’t, as Eridan shook his head. “Nah. Her mother works here, one of the most famous faculty members. Roxy Lalonde? Either way, I’m pretty sure she could get permission for anything, with or without her mom.”

Cold horror settled low in Sollux’s gut. Roxy Lalonde? _The_ Roxy Lalonde? Oh, god—Rose might be a complete basket case, but when it came to the world of tech, Dr. Lalonde was the real fucking deal. “So I guess we’re going back next week,” he said, in a rather defeated tone of voice.

Eridan shoots him a grin, and his heart turns over. “That’s the spirit, Sol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS FILL  
> so much fun that it is, in fact, not yet over  
> this is chapter one  
> there will be more to come....  
> er. depending on when it gets written??? goal is to have it done by polyswap due date but man who knows


	2. Blank Cards

The rest of the week passes like it's supposed to—like  _normal._  Ampora moons over Rose Lalonde  _marginally_  less, and Sollux manages a fine veneer of civility whenever he does. They even have a chance to duck into the communal kitchen and cook a few times—at the start of the semester they had  _both_  apparently mapped out very strict meal plan schedules—all of which lead to Sollux being  _marginally_ more willing to go back to Room 402 in the Castle, on Thursday, at 7:30 PM.

 

Rose Lalonde, by some senses of the term, did not disappoint. The door swung open automatically on their approach, with a creepy sort of sound, and she had obviously used the extra half hour afforded to her by the schedule change to  _decorate_.

Sollux stared for a moment, then chalked up a mental apology to Eridan for the multitude of times he'd called his roommate "literally THE most extra piece of shit to EVER blight this campus". It was quite obvious that there was now a new contender for the crown, and from the smugly superior look on Lalonde's face, she definitely knew it. Besides, focusing on her expression let Sollux ignore Eridan's awed (and maybe slightly enchanted) one.

She had done the room up in satins and silks, a blue so midnight it might as well be black, deep purples and hundred of flickering—well, they weren't  _real_  candles, but she had Sollux fooled for a few moments—and, of course, a pentagram rug. "I made mulled cider," she tells them, and gestured towards a desk. "It's in the cauldron." Of course it was.

 

She'd set four desks up in the middle of the classroom, to make a larger table, and covered it over with heavy velvet. The texture of it alone had Sollux stroking his fingers surreptitiously over the edges, where Rose wasn't likely to see. It's good enough quality that he finds himself wondering what major—besides costume design or fashion—would give her such a heavy grounding in textures.

"Developmental Psychology," she says, and Sollux nearly jumps out of his skin, before he realizes she was talking to Eridan. Probably. "It has always been an interest of mine. In my opinion, studying the paranormal fits right in, especially if we consider how often people tend to have their personal growth and views influenced by the superstitions they grew up with."

"Makes sense," Eridan replies, biting into one of the vaguely Halloween-esque, "graveyard" s'mores cookies she had made. "This is really good, by the way."

(Sollux grudgingly gives her a point. Eridan  _loves_  s'mores.)

Rose smiles at him. "My own recipe. You should let me add you—both of you, of course—to the group chat, and I can text it to you later."

"We only have three members. How do we have a group chat already?"

Eridan's very quick to ignore Sollux and pull out his phone, tapping over to the contact page and making an entry for her. Sollux has learned, over time, that Eridan is  _ridiculously_  organized, even if it only seems to be out of sheer necessity. The state of sloppy his room could descend into over long breaks was nothing short of  _horrifying_.

"I can add Sol to the chat for you, if you'd like. He's tetchy about givin' out his number," Eridan says, all conspiratorial and eager to please.

Sollux makes a disgruntled sort of noise, as he takes an infinitesimal sip from his goblet—an actual  _goblet_ —of cider that Rose had insisted upon pouring for him. "I already have enough people pestering me nonstop. Have you  _seen_  how much KK can text in a single hour? It's terrifying."

Eridan rolls his eyes, and Rose smothers a laugh. "Maybe he just has a lot to say?"

"Truer words have never been spoken—if there was an Olympic event for talkin', Kar could easily take the gold." It makes Rose laugh for real, and Eridan's eyes light up as Sollux sinks further down into his chair. "So what's the topic for tonight's meetin', then?"

 

Rose takes the opportunity to stand up and retrieve a surprisingly normal looking backpack—pale lavender, looking slightly careworn—that, by Sollux's guess, probably contains a portal to another dimension entirely. "Well," she starts, setting it down on the table and opening it up wide, "I had a few ideas for activities, but I wasn't sure what to start with. Then I remembered—we were so caught up in planning the club out that we had no chance to get to know one another."

Inside the bag, she's got yarns of different colors, unlit candles in all shades and hues, little sachets that waft scents out into the sterilized-distilled air of the classroom...and a pencil case, right next to an unused set of flashcards.

Sollux snorts, craning his neck to get a better look, and possibly do a discreet check for that portal. "So...what, you're going to have us practice ligature while we light candles and sniff potpourri? Will there be a test at the end?"

The sardonic eyebrow raise is rapidly becoming Sollux's least favorite move in Rose Lalonde's playbook. She uses it. He scowls.

"We can, if you'd like," she says, removing the flashcards and pencil case, before setting her hideously disorganized backpack aside. "I  _had_ planned to use the yarn for knitting, though, and the candle  _making_  lesson isn't for another couple weeks."

"Of course it isn't," Sollux mutters, drinking more of the disgustingly good cider. And here he'd thought humans couldn't beat cats for smugness.

"I was thinking we could write a few facts about ourselves on the flashcards, and take turns sharing them. To find out what we have in common, of course."

Eridan grins, and starts unwrapping the pack. "Sounds like a plan, then. Wouldn't mind just talkin' about shit, honestly, but you're the boss."

Sollux resists the urge to call him a liar, as Rose gives Eridan a smile, and starts passing out pens from her case. "Ah, but putting it down in writing makes it so much more  _real_ , don't you think?"

She hands Eridan a sparkly gold pen. He shuts up.

 

The room's quiet, save for the scratching of metal on paper, and Sollux loses himself in writing down inane facts about his life and interests. Eridan's focused on his own work, and Rose—Rose is already done.

He scowls, and sets his pen down, glancing over the cards he's written. It seems like he's missing one or two, and he flips the blank ones over, back and forth, trying to figure it out—"Hey!"

Slowly, one by one, the ink vanishes off the cards he's written.

"What the actual fuck."

Eridan glances over at him, clearly assuming he's being a pain intentionally (again), then back to his own cards. "What he said. Rose, what the fuck?"

Rose gives them both a sweet smile. "Disappearing ink. My own speciality, in fact, for a friend who's a fan of pranks. They'll reappear in about half an hour, not to worry."

"So what was the point of making us write these down, then?" Whatever she's up to, it's not only fake as hell, it's incredibly annoying.

That sweet smile turns smug, and becomes even  _more_  annoying. "This way, we can mix all of the cards up and draw a few different ones. From there, we can do...a kind of fortune reading, I suppose."

Goddammit. Eridan's back to delighted, and now Sollux himself is wondering how the  _hell_  she managed to make sparkly gold disappearing ink. "You said it would take half an hour, right? What are we supposed to do until then?"

Lalonde plays at thoughtful, for a moment, then smiles again. "Talk, perhaps? Or come up with a playlist suitable for a Halloween party."

 

 

Thirty minutes pass. "Playlist" had won the vote by an overwhelming margin, out of excitement or a desire not to have to be social any longer. Eridan had immediately set to work compiling something on his laptop, hopping between YouTube links at random, while Sollux had raided the vast libraries of Halloween-esque instrumentals at his disposal.

Neither of them were sure what Rose was doing on her phone, Sure, she'd mentioned Spotify Premium, but that didn't seem like enough to create a playlist on the fly.

Thirty-five minutes in, and Sollux looks up from his own laptop, frowning. "How are we going to listen to all three of these in the time we have left for...club activities?"

Rose shrugs, tapping in another couple things. "I assumed we'd share links and come back to cast votes later?"

"Makes sense," Sollux says, and rearranges two portions of he music. "Alright, I'm good to go."

"Good timin'," Eridan chimes in, putting his own computer aside and picking up the notecards. "Looks like everythin' just came back."

The ink on the cards is black, now, and Sollux gives them a suspicious look, before glancing over at Rose. "Weren't those sparkly gold?"

"Some gold does end up being fool's gold," she replies, and he rolls his eyes, taking the set of cards Eridan passes him.

"You can say  _that_  again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god I'm so sorry it's been so long


	3. Candles

The rest of the month passes like nothing Sollux has ever known.

They see Rose more often, and she slowly becomes more of a standard presence in their life. The more they get to know her, the more Sollux begins to realize the truth of the matter: Rose Lalonde is a massive fucking dork.

When they visit her room, it's not the impeccable den of occult and arcane that he'd been expecting. Instead, it's on par with Eridan's spring break chaos. When he casually mentions a game he's been tapped to design, based on a book that had quietly become a cult classic, Rose nearly knocks Eridan over in her haste to look at his code—apparently, she's responsible for about a fourth of the fanfiction available online.

Things become...normal. And it's weird. Weirder than anything he ever thought possible

It might...be nice? Having Rose Lalonde around. Maybe.

Of course, Eridan's smug, self-satisfied expression, is more than enough to do that in, most days. He looked so fucking pleased with himself, whenever they actually talked, or did anything together, or even got along. If it hadn't been for the fact that she maybe,  _occasionally_ , actually had some good ideas, Sollux probably would've tried sabotaging the whole thing just to get Ampora to  _shut the fuck up_.

 

Then again, if he'd done that, they might've avoided the Candle Incident altogether.

 

* * *

 

True to her word, Rose had set up a class on candles, candle magic, and candle making just a few weeks after the Halloween party. She'd checked all the relevant rules, on her end and theirs alive, and they'd all been surprised to find out that as long as they were careful to contain the flames properly, they  _would_  be allowed to burn a single candle in their place, for a maximum of five hours a day, as long as at least one person was home.

Admittedly, it  _had_  sparked a major debate over what candles Eridan was and wasn't allowed to burn when Sollux was in the apartment, but overall, the surprise had been a good one.

 

Rose outlined the different colorings and waxes they could mix together, out in the backyard of the house she rented with a few friends. "As much as I adore our little classroom, I doubt that the university would have appreciated a full on candle class in the space, and I definitely preferred not having to transport all of my supplies there and back again."

"Nice  _Hobbit_  reference," Eridan mutters, his eyes nearly crossed in concentration as he tries to carve the perfect rune-shape into the candle he's working on. Sollux had given up on counting how many dips it had taken Eridan to get that many layers on it, but he was definitely satisfied with his own solid-colored candle, and Rose had complimented his single-minded focus when it came to "enchanting" his work.

"Unintentional, but a good Tolkien reference is never amiss."

Sollux looks over at her candles, in all their different colors, and frowns. "You said something about color affecting meaning, right?"

"Yes and no." Before he can complain about her cryptic answer, she sets two different ones in front of him. "What do these colors mean to you?"

"Uh..." The black and white candles stand there accusingly, and he glances at Eridan, who shrugs. "Balance. Yin and Yang. Opposing forces in harmony."

"And if I take the black one away?"

Eridan cuts in, before Sollux can answer. "White'd be death, accordin' to my mom. But, uh—I mean, my cousin wore white at her weddin', at the shrine?"

"And if you asked someone else they might say purity, or something."

Rose beams, and for a moment, the both of them feel like they've passed some test. "Exactly. Meaning affects meaning—and colors can influence what meaning a candle has, true, but it's  _your_  meaning of their color that  _makes_ the meaning."

Sollux groans. "This sounds really circular."

"If it helps any, you can look at it like this: the intention with which you make your candles is more powerful than the interpretation that anyone else reads into them."

He pauses. Trades another look with Eridan. "That...actually does. Thanks."

Rose gives them another smile, and they all get back to work.

 

When they finally head out, she sends them off with a few candles of various colors. "Don't light more than one of them at once, and don't forget to read the links I emailed you before you play with them," she warns. As much as they promise to check their emails, and be careful with the candles, the promise of major papers and exams is more than enough to distract the both of them.

 

* * *

 

A long weekend rolls around, and Eridan's frowning at the little guide in his hand. Rose's email has long since been buried under pages and pages of campus mass mails, and they've finally burned through all the candles they've made. Another weirdness: Sollux has actually come to enjoy having those candles around, to  _expect_  them, even.

He can never tell anyone.

The steady rhythm of their days is interrupted, therefore, when their candle stock runs clean, which leaves Eridan with the guide he'd printed out from some internet site, when Sollux walks back in. "...is that one of Rose's?"

"Yeah," says Eridan, flipping a page and squinting at the tiny print. "Ran out a ours, an' I figured it'd make more sense to use up the ones we had afore buyin' more or askin' for another lesson, yeah?"

"...sure." Sollux isn't sure  _why_  anything Rose Lalonde has had a hand in making makes him so nervous, but he's going to assume that his common sense has got some kind of reason behind it. "What's the guide for?"

"Couldn't find her email, so I'm tryin' to figure out what this one does."

Sollux rolls his eyes, reaching to tug the guide out of Eridan's hands. "This is completely illegible. Just light the damn candle, it's not like it'll do anything but smell fucking amazing."

It's Eridan's turn to roll his eyes, but he gives the guide over and leans down to light the candle.

 

* * *

 

A few hours pass, and then a few minutes more. The candle's scent has already bloomed outwards, filling the entirety of the apartment with something that, according to Eridan, was probably "oakmoss" and "patchouli". It was about as close as Sollux was willing to get to a forest, honestly, but even with all the woodsy feeling and  _greenness_  of it, there was something...nice. Welcoming.

Somehow, they'd both wound up out in the little common area, working on their assignments together, and that was kind of nice too. Every so often, Eridan would glance up at Sollux, and vice versa—and sometimes there'd be a shy little smile, as their eyes met, and they'd get back to work.

When five hours were up, Eridan got up and blew out the candle. They both went back to work, and by the time the scent had faded completely, they were back in their rooms, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering.

 

The next night, Eridan lit the candle as soon as they were both home—and two hours later, they were curled up together on the couch, blankets draped over them to keep out the cold. "Just feels like I've got a lot to live up to, yeah? Expectations weighin' on me an' all."

Sollux nods, and tugs Eridan down to lean against his shoulder. "Yeah. Shit sucks, honestly."

Eridan settles in gratefully, tipping his head to look up at Sollux even from that angle "An' what about you? You ain't worried about what your family'll think or anythin'?"

"I mean, it's not like I've got that much family, you know?" Sollux fidgets, a little, and Eridan frowns digging around in the blankets to find him a stim toy. "Thanks. I guess it's a little of the opposite? I don't know. No direction."

It's Eridan's turn to shift, and bundle Sollux in closer, but something goes a little awry—their legs get tangled up together—and he ends up bringing them both sprawling out across the couch. They pause for a moment, then burst into laughter.

 

The ringing of alarm snaps both of them out of the spell of quiet conversation and sharing, and Sollux gets up—reluctantly—to put the candle out. "...we should get some sleep," he says, and Eridan nods in agreement, folding the blankets up without meeting his roommate's eyes.

 

* * *

 

Rose's first candle lasts for a full week, and neither of them think to question its effects or her. Winter made everyone more inclined to stay close, after all, and it wasn't as if they hated each other  _so_  much.

It's too bad they didn't start wondering earlier—after all, it might have saved them a good bit of trouble if they had.


	4. Wicks and Wax

Your hands roam over Eridan as he presses you up against the wall, his mouth put to far better use than talking, as it bruises yours up, cuts open your lip, runs teeth over the softer skin of your neck—you'd protest the indignity of hickies on  _you_  and not  _him_ , but you're too far gone to do more than moan, yank his hair until he's at your mouth again, and grind your hips up against his. Right now, you are very, thoroughly,  _completely_ invested in this kiss.

With a side order of heavy petting.

And maybe some frotting.

 

"God that's such a weird fucking word," you mumble, when he lets you breathe again.

"What?"

Eridan looking up at you with his stupidly perfect hair mussed, with his eyes dark and wanting, with all of him hazy with lust—it's pretty much a religious experience, and you take a second to ponder that if all angels looked this good, you might be more of a church-going man. "Frotting."

"Sol, while I usually admire the fact that your multi-taskin' brain can come up with shit like this under high stress situations,  _we're in the middle a somethin'_."

Indignation is adorable on  _him_ , so you tug him up for another kiss and ruck his shirt up enough to trace the stark lines of ink and scars down his back. The attention makes him moan, and you make a pleased little noise, going for yet another kiss, as he rubs his hips up against yours. "Cute," you tease, and he tries growling at you. It's not a half-bad attempt, but you're much more interested in teasing him at the moment.

"Jackass," Eridan mutters, and he'd continue on his invectives but you slip a hand into his pants and he's immediately distracted. "Oh,  _fuck_."

"If you'd like to," you say, grinning. "I'm sure we've got enough lube for it between the two of us."

Now he looks all offended again, but he's flustered too, and you laugh, before you lean in to kiss him all the way back into flustered.

 

You end up on his bed, in a tangle of limbs and lust, like so many of the romance novels Karkat forgets to properly hide away when you crash at his place. Eridan's under you, for now, and you grind down against him, keeping him pinned  _not_  with superior strength, but pure pleasure—he looks  _very_  good like this, and you've of half a mind to keep him down there for as long as you possibly can, but another thought occurs to you.

"Hey ED," you say, stopping. He actually whines. He looks all pitiful under you, and he actually  _whines,_  like he's been told he's not a good boy. God, this is the best fucking decision you've ever made. "Wanna ride me?"

Check that.  _This_  is the best fucking decision you've ever made. His eyes go all wide, and he swallows hard—then he nods, like he's not able to say a fucking thing, and he swallows hard again before making a go at words: "Yeah, uh—yeah, sure, I'll—okay—"

You laugh, and roll him over to straddle you—along the way, you'd both lost some clothing, but you're still more dressed than he is. Time to remedy that.

Or at least, you're planning to remedy that until his hands descend and strip you down, piece by piece, until you're nearly writhing under him. You'll give him that much, he's  _damn_  good with his hands, even under pressure, and the look he's giving you goes straight to your aching dick. "Come  _on_ , ED, you're such a fucking tease—"

You lisp over those trickier consonants, and Eridan laughs in a way that doesn't feel insulting at all—it slides down your system in much the same way a hot drink does—until you tangle a hand into his hair and haul his mouth down to meet yours. His reaction is satisfying enough to cut through the flushed and feverish embarrassment of sheer  _need_  you've been feeling, and you smirk against his mouth before you let him up.

He's panting for air above you, and you give him no help, tugging him in close, bucking your hips up against his. Midway through reaching for the lube, he loses his balance and collapses down against you.  _"Sol,"_  he says, all indignant, and nearly beam. "Stop that. I gotta prep, alright?"

"Did you want me to help?" He looks interested, at that, but it's not the completely awed, sex-flushed,  _needing_  look that you're going for. "Or did you want to put on a show for me? Work yourself open while I lie back and watch?"

 _Now_  you get that look, and gods, it is  _well_  worth it. You wouldn't  _mind_  working him up, opening him to you, for you, but you're not going to complain about getting the chance to watch him put on this kind of show. "I—"

"Yeah? Do you want to do that for me?"

Eridan swallows hard, nods, like he doesn't even have the words to speak. You raise an eyebrow, and he babbles something out: "Yes, please, fuck, I wanna, yes—"

"Good boy," you say, nearly a purr, and he  _moans_  in reply, setting to work at wrecking his own body. For  _you_.

 

A small, very distant, corner of your mind, is asking what the fuck is going on, and how you've both gotten here, and you do  _not_  remember being this good at topping.

Then Eridan Ampora pushes a second finger inside himself and any lines of even semi-rational thought completely cease to be.

 

* * *

 

The two of you rush things, just a little bit, and from the way Eridan is whimpering as you push into him, you're very glad you'd used so much lube. From his  _expression_ , though, you can tell he likes the stretch of it, the slightly aching burn, and the second you're fully settled inside of him, you grip his hips and  _roll_  yours up.

It's well worth it, for the way he screams, throwing his head back in sheer pleasure, your name on his lips—honestly, Eridan Ampora takes it like a man at worship—religion again, dammit—and you're not in a mood to deny him any sort of thing he might beg for.

 

Even if—if—

 

It's hazy, at first. Indistinct. But you have a certain  _feeling_ , an awareness of a presence, that you would've sworn wasn't there before, pressed up against Eridan's back, resting over your thighs. Before you can ask about it, there's—a shimmer, almost, a faint impression of  _something_  wrapping around his dick, stroking him, and the way he cries out, tightens up—

You stop bothering with the rational thought again, and grip at his hips, thrusting up into him like you're gonna  _die_  if you can't make him come. It's enough to make you forget the haze jerking him off; to make you ignore the way he's tipped back and held  _up_ , like he's leaning against someone's shoulder as he makes all those pretty little guttural moans; to leave you absolutely senseless to any slickness coating itself over your thighs—

 

When Eridan finishes, it's a whole production, and your eyes stay riveted to his every motion. You fight so hard to keep your attention on him that it nearly wrecks your own orgasm—until you feel a soft hand stroking over your thighs, cupping you, teasing the base of you that Eridan can't quite cover, slumped forward and shuddering against you as he is. You want to tell him he's making a mess, you want to  _say_  something, but then—something, like a jolt, runs through you, and you're spilling into the condom you're  _very_  grateful you remembered to wear.

 

* * *

 

By the time the two of you wake up, you're alone together, the candle's gone out, and the room smells something like sweetened sex.

Somehow,  _somehow,_  you both manage to make it through a shared shower before the awkwardness kicks back in again.

 

When his door closes—whisper soft, not slammed shut, for once—you feel colder than you have in a damn long time.

 

* * *

 

In a little room on the other side of campus, where a candle just went out, Rose Lalonde wakes out of a dead sleep—and a very good dream—and blinks. "Hm," she murmurs to herself. "That was...interesting."


End file.
